


All Disappeared in Smoke

by temperamental_mistress



Series: A Shower of Sparks [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anxiety, Canon Era, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, non-graphic descriptions of magical torture, there's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo for Jean Valjean and Cosette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something in the crowd shifted as the girl and her father disappeared from sight, and Joly immediately knew why. He stared harder at the stack of pamphlets in his hands, desperate to ignore what he knew was coming. There was no escaping it. Enjolras’s voice had risen, and seemed to carry more clearly than ever. </p><p>“The rumors of the Burning are true, citizens! They are not just stories made to frighten small children.” </p><p>No, Joly thought, swallowing a wave of anxiety. They most certainly aren’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Disappeared in Smoke

There was a chill in the air. Joly wished he could draw warmth from the mass of bodies around him, but as usual, his own body remained cold. It had been too long since he had felt properly warm. He pulled his scarf closer to his face as he moved through the crowd that had gathered to listen to Enjolras speak. Some shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, eager to be on their way, while others were rapt with attention.  
  
“A single spark may be extinguished without a thought, but a shower of sparks will ignite the air itself! A lamp has been lit, citizens, and we must carry it into the darkness to awaken those who cannot yet see!”  
  
Even at the outer edges of the rather large group, Joly found that he could hear Enjolras with perfect clarity. He suspected that there was magic in his voice, but did not turn to look. He didn’t have to. Perched atop a crate, Enjolras was likely glowing brighter than the sun as he tried to inspire the crowd. It didn’t matter how well the student controlled his sparks, his light was impossible to dim.  
  
Joly tuned Enjolras out and turned to focus anew on the task that had been set for him. There were still plenty of pamphlets to be distributed. Most people didn’t look away from Enjolras for even a moment. Sometimes this meant Joly could press a pamphlet into a gloved hand, and it would be accepted without question. Usually it meant no response at all, or a hand batting him away.  
  
An old man with greying hair pushed past him, pulling his daughter behind him. She dragged her feet every step of the way, craning her neck in an effort to see Enjolras. She was young, fine hair still plaited in the manner of a young girl, but Joly could see that she had become captivated by the scene at hand. Just before the old man could guide her clear of the crowd, Joly slipped a pamphlet into the girl’s basket.  
  
Something in the crowd shifted as the girl and her father disappeared from sight, and Joly immediately knew why. He stared harder at the stack of pamphlets in his hands, desperate to ignore what he knew was coming. There was no escaping it. Enjolras’s voice had risen, and seemed to carry more clearly than ever.  
  
“The rumors of the Burning are true, citizens! They are not just stories made to frighten small children.”  
  
_No_ , Joly thought, swallowing a wave of anxiety. _They most certainly aren’t_. He held out a pamphlet to the nearest man, unable to recall if he’d given him one already.  
  
“There are Sparked who have been torn from their homes and families, _tortured_ until the magic is ripped from their bodies!”  
  
The crowd began to shout, whether in frustration or disagreement, Joly did not know. Nor did he care to find out. He needed to leave, and he needed to do it quickly. His pulse pounded in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to block out that bright voice so full of fire.  
  
“It is no better than being burned at the stake, citizens! Few of these Sparked ever return home again. They look to exterminate us completely!”  
  
Joly felt his knees begin to buckle as he gulped for air. It was too soon, much too soon. He had thought he was ready for this, but he was wrong. The crowd was coming to life around him, pushing forward, voices and fists raised.  
  
A piercing whistle broke through the noise. The voice that followed didn’t carry, but the message did: the police were on their way. Enjolras was immediately pulled down from his perch and out of sight, although he continued trying to speak above the chaos for a moment longer. The crowd once again took up its frantic movement, pressing too close, moving nowhere in their efforts to escape.  
  
Joly fought to keep his breathing even. There was nowhere to go, no way out. He swore he could hear the stamp of boots against the street cobbles over the shouts of the people all around him. _Not again, not again!_ He choked on a breath as he was jostled by a man twice his size. The memory of hands gripping his arms, pulling him away from his work was still too near, too real.  
  
There was a flicker of light at his left temple. He turned his head to find a moth fluttering beside him, glowing with an unnatural light. _Combeferre_ , he thought, some distant part of his mind still functioning even as the rest of him fell apart. He pushed forward with renewed strength, letting the insect guide him through the mass of people. His movements were slowed by the flood of bodies trying to move in the opposite direction, but small as he was, Joly was able to slip into tighter spaces, never losing sight of the moth.  
  
At last, he emerged into the empty air. The rally had quickly begun to resemble a riot, and Joly was nearly bowled over by a pair of women rushing past. The moth was gone, but before he had time to panic, Combeferre appeared from the shadow of a nearby building. Without a word, he took Joly by the hand and pulled him through the twisting streets and away from the shrieking crowd.  
  
They ran until he was sure his heart was going to explode. He could no longer even identify what part of the city they were in. Everything was a blur of colors and smoke and there was never enough air to satisfy his lungs.  
  
Combeferre stopped when they reached an alley far enough from the riot that they could no longer hear it. He pushed his hair from his face, nearly bent in half as he tried to regain his breath. Joly leaned heavily against the building at his back, his every limb shaking furiously. He let his eyes slip shut as he forced himself to breathe.  
  
“Are you all right?” Combeferre asked, breathless.  
  
“I’m fine,” he lied, opening his eyes again, and stuffing his balled fists beneath his arms. “What about the others?”  
  
“All safe. Bossuet took an elbow to the face, but no one else was hurt.”  
  
He didn’t doubt the truth of Combeferre’s words. He knew, almost instinctively, that the moth he had followed had not been the only one sent into the crowd.  
  
“You’re pale as a sheet, Joly. Are you sure you’re all right?” Combeferre pressed, and Joly forced himself to nod. He could not do this here. He forced the anxiety deeper into his still heaving chest, willing it away. It never worked, but that never stopped him from trying.  
  
Combeferre patted his shoulder gently, and looked in the direction they had come from. “If we circle around the long way, we can make it to Courfeyrac’s within the hour.”  
  
Joly could only nod, and follow at the other man’s heels as he took off again.  


* * *

  
He was close, so very close. He just needed more time, he was certain. His newest hypothesis showed exceptional promise, and though the experiments were conducted under less than ideal conditions, the results were encouraging. If he could prove that magic could be used to realign the magnetic flow in a patient’s body, Joly knew the implications for medicine would be enormous.  
  
But then, they came for him. A crash of bodies and batons breaking through the door sent him scrambling for another way out. Too quickly they caught hold of him, pushing him to the floor. Sparks flew freely from his hands in the terror of the moment, completely beyond any semblance of control. Hands gripped his arms, pulling him away from all the good he had tried to do in this world. He felt himself screaming, but there was no sound. There never was.  
  
Time slowed and sped up without warning, dragging him along like a fish in a net. He couldn’t move. Something held him down, his back pressed against the floor. His sight was useless, blurred by tears until he couldn’t make out the shape of the forms directly above him.  
  
The familiar fire in his blood suddenly raged against the prison of his veins, desperate to escape, but he didn’t dare let off any more sparks. Not again, not where they could see! He screamed as the fire burned too hot, scorching him inside and out, ripping away from his very soul. When he was sure that the pain would kill him, a blinding flash of light exploded around him, and everything went still. Only smoke remained, and a cold emptiness where once there had been warmth.  


* * *

  
  
Joly woke in a cold sweat, his chest tight. The room was dark as pitch, and the shadows pressed close enough to smother him. His entire body was stiff and still, refusing to respond to his mind’s frantic demands to flee. A whimper escaped his throat as he struggled to draw air into his lungs.  
  
Something shifted on his left side, sending his mind into further spirals of fear. Was he still asleep? He couldn’t be sure anymore.  
  
“Nightmare?” asked a sleep-heavy voice. It took a long moment for Joly to recognize who it belonged to. He couldn’t nod, couldn’t speak.  
  
“You’re safe, darling,” Musichetta soothed. She did not wait for an answer, or ask what the nightmare had been about. After a year of interrupted sleep, she no longer needed to. Her face settled near his ear, and she continued to whisper to him. He couldn’t follow her words, but the song-sweet tone of her voice was enough to calm his frantically beating heart.  
  
The mattress shifted on his right as Bossuet rolled over, pressing his face into Joly’s shoulder. A protective arm stretched over him, a barrier against the rest of the world. Little by little, Joly felt the paralysis fade from his limbs as Bossuet held him close.  
  
Joly let the pair wrap him in their warmth and light, clinging to it in the absence of his own. One had never known the warmth of magic in her blood, the other had never known its absence. They couldn’t understand the hollow in his soul, the phantom pain of a limb cut away. He prayed they never would.


End file.
